


mr. blue sky, please tell us why you had to hide away

by philthestone



Series: pocket full of sand 'verse [10]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, also a bunch of side characters u feel, plot what plot did u guys REALLY think i would deliver a plot, this is a fic about ... sadness ... lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-20 04:24:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11913150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/philthestone/pseuds/philthestone
Summary: When Anakin thinks back on the long stretch that was the Rebellion, he sees a series of moments: before reuniting, and after reuniting. Just snapshots, really, kind of like the flickering holos his mother used to take with their recycled, designed-by-a nine-year-old holorecorder – insignificant and yet devastatingly important at once. Obi-Wan would probably call it the Force.Anakin thinks it might just be Life.





	mr. blue sky, please tell us why you had to hide away

**Author's Note:**

> hooo this is old!!! i mean. not technically. but the first draft is literally years old, and this final draft was completed about a month and a half ago, so either way, i've procrastinated posting this here for way too long. there's no plot -- just a series of moments, gaps being filled in the trash family au canon.
> 
> title's from ELO, and all the subheadings are from various other songs in the gotgvol2 soundtrack, which ive been .... possibly listening to on loop without breaks since the end of may
> 
> yeah, uh,,,, props to whomever knows which subheadings from what song?
> 
> reviews are Happiness, which this fic does not include in the least. don't say i didnt warn u

**i: free as a breeze, not to mention the trees (“I’m kind of happy you’re my friend”)**

It’s a strange sight.

Two children – because even at nineteen, the elder is still in many ways just as much as a child as his only-just-turned-ten-year-old companion – sitting on the docking ledge in the crowded hangar, legs swinging aimlessly. One all lanky limbs and scruffy looks and feet skimming the floor; the other still-chubby cheeks and small hands and dark hair, they observe the passing pilots and sit in uncharacteristically friendly silence until the smaller of the two turns and faces her tall companion.

“I wish I could fly as good as you.”

He looks at her in surprise. It isn’t often that she makes these kinds of confessions. For a ten-year-old, her sense of independence (and pride, and dignity, and _damn it, she can stare down thugs in cantinas brandishing blasters and her head barely reaches his elbow_ ) is surprisingly large.

“Why?” he blurts out, with a self-deprecating (because years of being abandoned by the universe have left him more cynical and angry and insecure than he would ever admit) laugh, incredulous and wondering why in nine hells she cares. Tact and sympathy and – _feelings_ – haven’t really ever been his strong suit.

She shrugs.

“Dad can fly really good, too.”

Right. Her father’s still missing, and her father is a vigilante ex-Jedi Knight that he used to hero-worship. Almost forgot about that. 

“You probably could one day,” he tries, thinking that she’s smart enough and quick enough and has weirdly sharp reflexes and _no_ , he damn well still doesn’t believe in the Force, but piloting skills are sort of hereditary, right?

“Nope,” she disagrees, popping the ‘p’. “I’ve never had the sense.”

Han can’t help but grin, because to most people that would sound like crazy talk, but he _knows._

(Luke, for example, has that _sense._ )

“Anyway,” she continues, a conspiratorial edge entering her childish voice. “I bet if I flicked this rock hard enough it’d hit Mon Mothma on the shoulder.”

He looks across the walkway to see the stately lady deep in conversation with a man he thinks is called Rieekan, and feels a crooked grin tug at his lips.

“Bet you can’t.”

“Can _too,_ ” insists Leia, positioning her fingers over the misplaced piece of concrete. “How much d’you wanna bet?”

“How much do you _have_ , Princess Mewsk?”

“Luke’s got some Coruscanti lollipops hidden under his pillow,” she says, ignoring _mewsk_ for the first time since he’s met her – he can’t tell if he’s proud or disappointed that she’s started relegating his teasing to white noise, recently – scrunching up her nose in concentration and aiming her finger.

“That’s stealing.”

“Shut _up,_ you nerf. If you’d have known, they’d already be gone.”

“Okay, okay, you got me.”

“Good.” She bites her lip.

And flicks.

Mon Mothma flinches slightly and grabs her shoulder on impulse, eyes widening, and Han has to duck his head under the awning of the ledge to hide his laughter. Leia’s giggles sound beside him as comprehension (and soon after, a terrifying, icy glare) dawns on the poor senator’s face.

“Leia Skywalker! Why, I never – Solo! I should have known! You’ve corrupted that poor child – don’t you dare run away young lady, you are in _big_ trouble! Just because your father isn’t – Carlist, stop _laughing_ –”

They jump off the ledge and escape to the _Falcon_ , where they hide in the ‘fresher with their knees pressed against the door. Their laughter echoes in the cramped space of the ‘fresher for what seems like ages, but when it’s finally done and he sort of has his breath back, he hears her voice again.

“I’m kind of happy you’re my friend.”

He starts; surprised (again – _gods, how many surprises can one mewsk-sized girl throw at him in one day?_ ) It’s the first time since they met that she has ever referred to him as a friend, and he realizes that he’s considered her, barely-ten-years-old and spunky and tiny and all dark braids and rosy cheeks and bossy little voice and determination and fire, one for a while.

“Me too, Princess.” (More out of habit than to annoy her, because she’s above being annoyed now, apparently.)

She sticks her tongue out at him anyway, though, and he tugs at her braid in retaliation, and he is ten years old again, not nineteen and lost and jaded, when they sneak into Luke and Leia’s shared room and Luke is already there and says, “Hey guys, want a lollipop?”, his face the picture of naive generosity. 

Leia starts laughing so hard she has to sit down.

**ii: and who’s to say where we’ll be tomorrow (“we found the boy in the recording. the one whose mother was arrested.”)**

The man walking across the room towards them is familiar, she thinks, a moment before he pushes back his hood and smiles warmly at her.

In retrospect, the excited yell she emits is not what would be fitting for a dignified Jedi (just like kicking people in the shins isn’t, like blowing raspberries on Dad’s face isn’t, like sticking her tongue out at scruffy teenagers isn’t), but at that moment in time, she really doesn’t care.

“BEN!”

“Hello, little one!” says her old friend, kneeling down accommodate her running tackle of a hug. “I’ve missed you.”

He is dusty and warm and a little frayed around the edges, just as she remembered. She lets him pull her up into a sitting position on his knee, like he used to back on Tatooine, as Luke stands awkwardly behind her and shuffles his feet. A thousand questions are flitting through her head _(wherewereyou whathappened didyoufinddad iseverythingokay howdidyouknowwe’dbehere)_ , but only one is actually voiced.

“We found the boy in the recording,” she blurts out, lifting her head from his shoulder and looking him in the eye. This is a question, everyone there knows, though there doesn’t seem to be a question mark at the end of it. “The one whose mother was arrested.”

Ben’s face is unreadable, but there is an echo of – something, not quite pain but flitting through his tired grey eyes – _recognition_ , almost, Leia decides.

He is looking at Luke.

“So you did.”

She bites her lip.

“You – you’re General Kenobi, aren’t you?” asks Luke, in a small, albeit awe-inspired voice, his shaggy blonde hair hanging in his eyes.

“It would appear so,” agrees Ben. “Though, that is not a name I have heard in quite a while.” His hair is grey and tousled and his usually-piercing eyes are tired.

Ben turns back to her, shifting her on his knee as he does so, moving so that she’s more comfortable. She doesn’t think she’s ever really realized how many lines there are around his eyes, or if she’s asked exactly how old he is, because she remembers Dad once saying that they’d been friends since Dad was only a little boy and so he either has to be _really_ old or not that much older than Dad, actually, and –

“You knew that Luke was my brother.”

A pause.

“I did.”

Leia feels herself tremble. Ben, for all that she wants to be angry with him, looks as though he expects nothing less from her. It’s a peculiar sort of look, one that she’s not used to seeing from adults.

Leia starts yelling.

(Ben lets her, with a sad look in his eyes that later – _later_ , when she has spent all her yelling, and Luke is sitting with her on the Falcon’s ramp, passing a lollipop between them – Leia thinks might be significant.)

**iii: bring it to me, bring your sweet loving (“I thought you’d know my better than _that_ , at least.”)**

The voice that sounds behind her is one that she knows so _intimately_ well that it doesn’t matter if she is cold and beaten and starved and missing her son terribly; she scrambles around and tackles him.

“What – are – you – _doing_ – here –” she manages between kisses, his hands in her hair and her nose pressed against his and if she wasn’t half-drugged and recently tortured and sitting in a prison cell block on an Imperial Star Destroyer while her fugitive (also known as terrorist, disturber of the peace, Rebel scum, Jedi filth, really really really attractive) husband kissed her as though he hadn’t seen her for years (he hasn’t), she would have made the Very Bad Decision of asking him to make love to her right there on the floor.

A _very bad decision_ , Padme repeats to herself, twice, and blames her sudden urge to cry on her the utter exhaustion, his new beard, and her general life situation, specifically in that order.

“Snips told me about the arrest,” Anakin manages as he pulls away panting, his cheeks flushed. His eyes are shining blue skies and sparking flames, are radiating the same intensity they did four years before.

“You idiot,” she says, trying to wrap her mind around the fact that he is _here,_ in the flesh, touching her and holding her with his eyes blazing, just as in love with her as he was when they had first parted ways. “They took me to get to _you.”_

“Of course they did.”

“And you still came _anyway?_ Ani. I’m not sure you really thought this through.”

“I assure you, love, I have. Extensively.” He presses his forehead against hers gently and uses his hands to support under her elbows so that her trembling, bruised, traitor of a body doesn’t sink to the floor. “I’m three steps ahead of you. And them.”

“Really,” she says, the beginnings of an incredulous smile tugging at her lips (and he is _there, in front of her, in the flesh, living, her husband_ –)

“Yes, _really,_ ” says Anakin, pouting slightly. “Honestly, Padmé. My wife stole top-secret _government plans_ and she’s berating _me_ for not thinking things through. I thought you’d know me better than that, at least.”

She bites her lips and looks at him, and Padme presses her face against his chest when he wraps his arms around her, after a long pause, suddenly brittle with what remains unspoken between them. Nine years ago, he did not have a daughter and she did not have a son (and they did not have children) and everything was very much right on the brink of collapsing completely, and Padmé could not have looked him in the eye and honestly told him that she trusted his judgment.

( _She still can’t, sometimes_ , she wants to say, but is that the lingering stamp of all those years ago or is he still so –?)

But now is not nine years ago, she knows, and now they are together, and now there is actually the possibility that they might get out of this _alive_.

Thank the Force and all the gods she’s ever known, even the funny-looking ones her mother would keep statues of lined up against the kitchen counter, that Padme would make faces at as she passed them on her way out into the gardens.

“Where’s Leia?” she manages, as her husband disentangles his arms from hers, wrapping one around her waist and half-pulling, half-carrying her towards the door. She’d be pleased if she didn’t feel like she’d been trampled by five Zilobeasts and possibly hallucinating, but as it is, she makes a face down at her feet, who are trying their utmost to be useless.

“With Obi-Wan.”

“Ani –”

“She’ll be fine, Padmé. Obi-Wan wouldn’t do anything stupid.”

“Unlike you?”

“Well,” he says, and she tightens her grip on his arm and cannot help but smile hugely at the lopsided, boyish grin that tugs at his mouth. “That remains to be determined.”

**iv: don’t you know, it’s a beautiful new day (“you know that just ‘cause he’s gone doesn’t mean you’re not still friends.”)**

He is thirteen years old and his twin sister is glaring at the wall in front of them as though it has personally offended her.

He scuffs his toe against the floor and bumps her shoulder.

“You know that just ‘cause he’s gone doesn’t mean you’re not still friends.”

She keeps glaring.

“He swore he’d come back,” he offers lamely.

Nothing.

“Leia,” he finally says. “Come on. Rieekan needed his help more than Dad did. He wouldn’t have asked unless it was important.”

But it wasn’t really Rieekan’s decision; they know that, know how Doddona and all the other higher-ups were doing it all for the Greater Good of the Rebellion, recruiting as many (volunteer) pilots to the outer reaches of space as possible. And Luke pretends that this isn’t hurting him too, that he does not miss their friend as much as his sister does, that he basically just lost his older brother.

“He promised.”

“What?”

“He promised we’d always be friends.” _That he wouldn’t just up and leave,_ is what’s unspoken. Luke knows his sister uncannily well considering they’ve only actually known each other a few years. Dad says it’s the Force. “No backsies.”

“Like a pinky swear?” Because they used to do them, when they were still looking for Mom and Dad and sleeping in a corner of the ramshackle base in Dantooine, when Han taught Luke how to shoot a blaster straight and Leia would laugh because his aim was so bad.

She sighs. “I guess.”

Luke bites his lip.

“Well. He’s got to come back then. Pinky swears are forever.”

She looks up at him and he thinks, not for the first time, that she’s growing up to look a lot like Mom.

“Really?”

“He’ll come back,” he repeats, determined and sure and everything that Leia usually is but at that one tiny moment in time is not, because sometimes close friends are also the objects of childhood crushes and that just makes everything so much more complicated.

(He is determined and sure because Han is their best friend, and Doddona can damn well stick it up his ass if he thinks sending people who aren’t even officially part of the Rebellion out into deep space with General Rieekan to do scouting missions and try and make deals with Hutts is going to last long.)

She leans her head on his shoulder and Mom tells them later that she’d found them like that, asleep against the wall of the bunk, hands intertwined between them.

**v: listen to the wind blow, watch the sun rise (“war’s a tricky business.”)**

The cold press of the metal feels soothing to her cheek, flushed with adrenaline as she presses her ear against the door. The voices echoing from inside are getting increasingly louder, and she no longer has to strain her ears to hear the conversation.

“Leia, we _really_ shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Shush,” she instructs her brother, pressing her ear more firmly against the door. She can discern Dad’s rough voice over Mon Mothma’s strained attempts at retaining order and Jan Dodonna’s clipped words.

“– aining the allegiance of the Hutts would be integral to furthering the Alliance’s efforts, General Skywalker, you _know_ that –”

“By sending Rieekan? He’s a good man and a brilliant general, Mon, but he’s never _dealt_ with Hutts before.” Leia cringes, knowing that tone of voice. Dad is _not_ pleased. “I grew up on Tatooine. If you wanted to enlist the Hutts’ help for supply routes –”

“We had no choice, Skywalker.” If their father is upset, it is nothing compared to the harsh bite of anger and frustration in General Dodonna’s voice.

“No _choice?”_ She hears Dad scoff. “You could have at least sent someone who had experience; Jabba’s a traitorous, slimeball bastard on the best of days –”

“We _did –”_

“Don’t give me that shit, Dodonna, that boy is barely over twenty. Sure, he’s grown up in rough crowds, but that doesn’t mean you can just throw him to the wolves.”

“Throw him to the wolves? Force’s sake, Skywalker, they’ve been out there for years, we – w-we can’t pick and _chose_ who gets to fight our battles! _You_ were barely twenty when you fought in the Clone Wars!”

“And a fat lot of good it did me,” growls Dad, low and angry. “No one should have to that at such a young age.”

“We’re on the brink of being caught up in the middle of a war, Anakin,” she hears Mon Mothma say, her voice strained. “Sheltering people is not an option anymore –”

“I know that,” Dad says, and she can feel him try to control his frustration, raw and hot. “But we can’t just cut our losses and run. Having a bounty on your head isn’t something you can just brush off –”

She hears Luke inhale sharply beside her and feels his hand squeeze hers.

“I know you were close to the boy,” says Mothma, still in that quiet, strained voice, and Leia tries not to crush Luke’s hand in her own. “Close” is a weird sort of word; Mom had once joked that Dad had a habit of adopting people without actually meaning to, which was arguably bad for everyone involved’s health. Aunt ‘Soka had laughed at that for what’d felt like a whole ten minutes straight. “But Han volunteered to go.”

“That’s not the _point_ ,” grits out Dad. Leia can picture him squeezing his fists against the table; the mechanical whirring of his bionic hand is practically audible from _here_.

“What would you suggest we had done?” Dodonna’s voice is even angrier than before. “Sent _you?”_

“At least I’ve dealt with Hutts before!” (Leia tries not to flinch; it’s not quite a roar, that feels like needlessly dramatic a word, but it’s – loud.)

“You know we couldn’t have done that, General Skywalker,” cuts in Mothma quietly. “We need you here.”

“I _know,_ damn it! But we might’ve had a chance to actually deal with the Hutts then –”

“What happened couldn’t be helped. Necessary sacrifices were made.”

There is a dangerous silence. And then, quietly, said in a way that sends chills down her bones to the tips of her fingers:

“ _Necessary sacrifices?_ If we’re willing to endanger our own and treat it as no big deal, then we’re no better than the Imps.”

The heated voices become jumbled through the thick metal of the door, and she feels Luke tugging at her arm.

“Leia – Leia, c’mon, Mom and Obi-Wan are gonna wonder where we are.”

Leia lets herself be pulled away and wonders why she feels so angry, like a big, acidic hole is burning away the middle of her chest. Dad hugs her later, that night, and Leia curls her fists into his tunic like she’d do when she was little and blinks furiously at the hot tears in her eyes.

“War’s a tricky business,” says Dad, a heaviness in his voice that she hasn’t heard in a long time. They leave it at that, for a long while to come.


End file.
